


Put a Ring On It

by Bunnywest



Series: Thighs Verse [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biker Peter Hale, Blow Jobs, Cock Piercing, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Rimming, Tattooed Peter Hale, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 10:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter doesn’t waste time, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and pulling out his half-hard cock, and Stiles has to take a minute, because holy shit.Peter got his dick pierced.There’s a fat gold ring pushed through the head of his cock, and Stiles can only stare and whisper, “Holy fuck,”Peter grins savagely. “You like it, baby?”





	Put a Ring On It

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober, day 18 - body modification, yay!  
It you don't know I'm weak for tatts and piercings by now, y'all haven't been paying attention.
> 
> Set in the Thighs 'verse.

“How the hell have we been married a year?” Stiles sighs, still loose-limbed from Peter fucking him senseless.

“Time flies when you’re having fun?” Peter suggests with a smirk. He leans over to his bedside drawer and pulls out an envelope, handing it to Stiles. “Happy anniversary, sweet boy.”

Stiles manages to get himself upright and opens his gift. He reads the contents and beams. “Aw, a weekend at our honeymoon hotel? You’re such a romanticwolf.”

Peter gets a gleam in his eye. “Say what you like, but there’s nothing like defiling crisp, clean hotel sheets.”

Stiles laughs before leaning in and giving Peter a peck on the cheek. “Your present’s not a thing. Or, it is a thing, but it’s not an item. It’s something I wanted to do, that you’ll like.” His fingers fiddle with the triskele pendant he wears constantly, twisting it around.

“Oh?”

Stiles continues to play with his pendant. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get a tattoo.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise. “I thought you didn’t like needles.”

“I don’t like needles, but I do love you. And you love tattoos. So, I was thinking, maybe this?” He tugs at the triskele. “A small one, not like that monster Derek has,” he hastens to add.

Peter gives him this gorgeous wide smile, and Stiles’s heart trips faster at the sight. Peter straddles Stiles, pins him to the bed, and starts kissing him, stopping only to rasp out, “You’ll look so good with ink on this skin, baby.”

Stiles takes it as a yes.

* * *

Peter insists that Stiles can’t just go to any artist, no. He has to go to Peter’s guy. Having seen the guy’s work up close and personal, Stiles has exactly zero problem with that. They arrange the appointment to coincide with their weekend away, and Peter comes with him and utters soothing nonsense while Stiles lays there shirtless and tries not to freak out at the cool touch of the stencil against his chest He’d debated where to get the symbol put, had even teased Peter that he was going to get a tramp stamp, but in the end he’s opted for over his heart – he’s a sap, okay? He wants to be able to see it.

One of the benefits of going to Peter’s artist is that the guy is in the know about all things werewolf, so he doesn’t blink an eye when, as he starts to work, Peter places a hand on the other plane of Stiles’s chest and draws his pain. Stiles closes his eyes, does his best not to move, and lets the touch of Peter’s palm against his skin calm him.

It’s not nearly as scary or painful as he imagined, over far sooner than he thought, and there’s just a dull throb where the design’s been etched into his skin. When he sees himself in the mirror, he’s delighted. “I look like the guys from Supernatural,” he says, grinning.

Peter rolls his eyes. “You most certainly do not. You’re far more attractive.”

Stiles preens a little at that, but he doesn’t get to kiss Peter the way he wants to because he’s busy getting his new ink covered and being given care instructions. He keeps looking down at the fresh tatt, unable to stop smiling. “That wasn’t so bad. Maybe later,I might get more?” He’s not asking Peter’s permission exactly, just floating the idea.

Peter growls out, “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” and the hungry look in his eye lets Stiles know that he approves wholeheartedly. Stiles wonders if they can get a matching set - Peter can never have too much ink as far as he's concerned. That’s when Peter says, “Actually, wait here. It’s my turn.”

Stiles wonders what the hell Peter’s up to, but sits obediently on the couch as Peter has a hushed conversation with the artist, who laughs and rolls his eyes, then indicates for Peter to follow him out the back. It’s mere minutes later that he hears what can only be described as a _yelp_, followed by Peter cursing a blue streak. He’s desperate to go and see, but Peter said for him to wait here, so he figures he’d better do what he’s told.

It’s ten minutes after that when Peter walks out, and Stiles can’t see anything different about him, but Peter looks particularly smug as he pays. With a last admonition to call if there are any problems, the man waves them off.

Stiles doesn’t even make it to the car before he’s asking, “What did you do?”

Peter just grins and says, “You’ll see, pet. Now no more questions.”

* * *

Peter’s doing it on purpose, Stiles is sure of it. After his appointment they don’t go home, no. Peter insists they go for lunch, and then he points out that they’re due to check into their hotel in an hour and their bags are already in the car, so why not take a nice stroll. When Stiles protests that he doesn’t feel up to strolling, that he’s been stabbed numerous times thank you, and needs to rest, Peter finds them a shaded bench to sit on and plies Stiles with ice cream. Stiles is still kinda full from lunch but hey. Ice cream.

His curiosity is killing him, and he keeps casting subtle glances at Peter, trying to get a hint of what he could have had done, but Peter’s giving nothing away, just smirking when he catches Stiles looking. He’s such an asshole. Stiles glances at his watch, sees it’s still twenty minutes to check-in, and sighs. Peter looks across and smiles sweetly. “Any reason you’re so impatient, sweetheart?”

“You know why,” Stiles grumbles, throwing the last of his ice cream in the bin.

Peter’s smile changes into something hungrier. “Patience, sweet boy. You’ll see soon enough.”

And then he sits there for another five minutes just enjoying the sunshine while Stiles nearly vibrates out of his skin with impatience. Finally, with a yawn and a stretch, Peter gets up and they head back to the car and drive to their hotel.

They have the honeymoon suite again, and they’re barely in the door before Stiles is pulling Peter in for a tender kiss, eyes bright with excitement as he asks, “Show me?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not quite yet, we have to wait for the –“ He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. “That.”

He opens the door to a waiter who rolls in a cart with champagne and chocolates on it, followed by the porter with their luggage. Stiles notes the way they look at Peter with his tattoos, boots, leather and stubble and then at Stiles in his chucks and graphic tee, as if they’re trying to make sense of it, and he can’t help but waggle his left hand at them, saying ‘Wedding anniversary,” with a cheesy grin that dares them to disapprove.

The staff mumble out their congratulations and Peter tips them handsomely, which makes their smiles a little more genuine, and then they’re gone and they’re finally alone. “Now?” Stiles asks - almost begs, really.

Peter pulls him close by his hips and their lips brush together softly. Peter kisses him again with a little more urgency, and Stiles’s mouth opens under the persistent probing of Peter’s tongue. Stiles tilts his head so their mouths can fit together, and he gets a little lost in the way Peter teases him, tongue flicking against teeth, then plunging deep. When they finally part, Peter’s lips are puffy and plump and Stiles knows he probably looks the same. “Such a pretty, fuckable mouth,” Peter purrs. He places a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck, steers him over to one of the armchairs in the room, and applies just enough pressure that Stiles drops to his knees gracelessly.

Peter doesn’t waste time, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and pulling out his half-hard cock, and Stiles has to take a minute, because holy shit.

Peter got his dick pierced.

There’s a fat gold ring pushed through the head of his cock, and Stiles can only stare and whisper, “Holy fuck,”

Peter grins savagely. “You like it, baby?”

“I love it,” he breathes. It’s one of those things that he’s always fantasized about but never thought he’d see in real life, and it’s everything he imagined.

“Go ahead, pet. Touch it,” Peter says, one hand holding his plump dick out like an offering. Stiles ghosts a hand over the head, flicking at the ring with his thumb, moving it back and forth, back and forth, fascinated. Peter lets out a pleased noise, and Stiles looks up to see him with his pupils dilated and mouth slightly open, so he does it again, sliding the ring around till it can’t go any further, then sliding it back. Peter’s cock thickens and fills further at the touch, and Peter rasps out, “Your mouth, sweetheart. Use your mouth.”

Stiles doesn’t need to be asked twice. He leans forward and takes the tip in his mouth. The metal’s strange against his teeth, but a lot of fun to poke at with his tongue. Peter hisses and Stiles stills, worried he’s somehow hurt him, but then Peter’s hand is on the back of his head urging him forward, so Stiles figures that wasn’t a hiss of pain. He licks and sucks and bobs as best he can around the new jewelry, and Peter makes appreciative moans and rolls his hips, pushing himself in further. Stiles is rock hard just from Peter’s cock being in his mouth but he ignores his erection for now, sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks while he revels in the strangeness of it. He must do too good of a job, because the next thing he knows Peter’s hand is in his hair pulling him off, and Peter’s leaning forward, panting as his cock twitches and leaks in the cool air. He nods towards the bed. “Hands and knees, pet. I want to see this stretching out your pretty little hole.”

Stiles scrambles to comply, stripping in record time and presenting himself. He worries for a second about disturbing his tattoo, but finds that once he’s settled on his elbows it’s fine. Of course it is, he thinks. Peter’s clever enough to think of these things. He doesn’t think of much else after that though, because Peter buries his tongue in Stiles’s ass and has him grasping at the sheets and begging in record time. Peter makes him wait till he’s stretched him three fingers wide, and Stiles thinks he’s ready, nodding eagerly when Peter lines up behind him, but nothing, nothing could have prepared him for that thick metal ring rubbing against his insides, lighting up every nerve on the way.

Stiles isn’t a werewolf, but he still howls.

Peter doesn’t hold back, and if the way he’s grunting and moaning with every thrust is any indicator, it’s as good for him as it is for Stiles. And it’s not just good for Stiles.

It’s incredible.

It’s fireworks and rainbows and heavenly choirs. It’s every nerve singing hallelujah. It’s the pull of metal against his rim as Peter plunges in and out, the brush of the ring against his prostate, the extra stretch as his body’s forced to find room for a new thing.

It’s bliss.

Stiles finds himself chanting ‘_yes_’ and _‘more’_ and _‘please’ _in a litany of pleas, and it overlaps with Peter’s rough moans, the sounds echoing through the room.

Peter has his hands locked tight on Stiles hips, pulling him back onto his cock rough and fast, and Stiles reaches under himself and starts to tug desperately at his erection, the dual sensations making his breath catch and his heart hammer in his chest. It barely takes half a dozen pulls on his hard cock before he comes with a shout, his ass clenching around Peter. It makes Peter grunt and swear and slam into him hard, holding Stiles in place as he comes.

Stiles is panting, breathless, like he’s run a marathon, and Peter’s not much better. He drapes himself against Stiles’s back and lets out a satisfied growl, low and animal, his cock still twitching. Stiles knows it was good if the wolf came out, and he grins into the pillow where he’s buried his face. They rest just like that for a while, until Peter finally pulls back and pulls out.

He makes a sound, not of pain exactly, but of something, and Stiles looks back over his shoulder in silent enquiry. Peter has a surprised look on his face, and he stutters a little when he speaks. ‘’Se – sensitive, pup.”

Stiles can only imagine. He rolls over, careful to avoid his new ink, propping himself up and nodding at where Peter has a hand around his softening cock. “Wow, who knew sticking a giant piece of metal in your dick would cause such a thing?”

“If you’re talking, I didn’t fuck you hard enough,” Peter says with an arched brow. Stiles thinks he’s joking at first, but then he sees Peter’s hand moving back and forth, coaxing himself to hardness again, sees the smirk on Peter’s face, and before he knows it he’s on his side, leg hitched up, and Peter’s behind him, pressing into his loose hole and growling out, “How many times can we do this before you beg for mercy, I wonder?”

* * *

Four.

The answer is four.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so a couple of people have commented and so apparently I need to add a footnote - werewolf healing, it’s a thing. Peter was ready for action in five minutes- he only stayed for the ten minutes because he was swapping out the basic ring for something showier, flashy bastard that he is.  
I promise - no infections, and no pain!


End file.
